


Crossroads

by medaljonki



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Gon isn't born yet, Implied Past Abuse, M/M, Misgendering, Mito is Gon's only mother, Pariston is Gon's other biological parent, Trans Ging, Trans Male Character, Unhealthy Relationships, Unplanned Pregnancy, but he's important, so he's not really a character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 05:33:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10154987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medaljonki/pseuds/medaljonki
Summary: Waking up in a hospital after fainting, 18-year-old Ging finds out that he is pregnant and must determine what to next, which is especially difficult because the person who knocked him up is his not-right-in-the-head ex, Pariston, who Ging still has feelings for. Rated M for language. Pre-Series.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is based around a few head canons inspired by the 2011 anime and the Election and the Dark Continent manga arcs. That 1) Ging is trans 2) Gon doesn't actually have a biological mother, his only mother is Mito 3) Pariston is Gon's other biological parent 4) Ging and Pariston had a very close and rocky relationship, which is why Ging knows Pariston more than anyone else in the Zodiac and also why he knows first hand just how twisted Pariston's love can be, and 5) though we don't a lot about Ging's abilities, I think it can be assumed transportation is one of them given the cards in Greed Island. Also, I head canon that Ging can see into the future but only sporadically. (Ging seems to have some sort of knowledge of future events, but he doesn't seem to be able to predict everything, which is good because that would be boring.)

Ging woke up to the dull, yellow of fluorescent light. He was in alone in a small room, in nothing but his underwear and a paper thin, backless gown. He had an IV in his arm and a pulse oximeter clamped on his finger. With his free hand, he searched his body for injuries but couldn’t feel anything wrong. He made an effort to stand up, but the nurse monitoring him from out in the hall saw him moving and walked in.

‘Hi, you’re awake,’ she said. ‘How are you feeling?’ She had a round, smiling, freckled face and greying hair pulled up into a bow bun.

‘Dizzy, and my head hurts,’ Ging said. ‘What happened?’

‘You fainted.’

Ging started. Yes, it was summer, and yes, he sometimes forgot to take in proper water and nutrients when he was really focused on something, but he had never fainted before in his life. Not even when he had spent a week crossing a desert. ‘Am I okay?’

‘Well, you hit your head on the sidewalk when you fell, so we were a bit worried about a concussion. A doctor is going to come in soon to check on that. You don’t have a big bump though, and all the tests we’ve run have come back normal. I’d say you got lucky.’

She smiled broadly and patted Ging’s shoulder, easing him back down onto the bed. Ging wrapped his arms around himself. He felt cold and exposed in the sheer material of the hospital gown. ‘So, you have no idea why I fainted?’ 

The nurse shrugged. ‘It’s not that unusual for someone in your condition.’

Ging sprang up. ‘My condition? What condition? What’s wrong with me?’

‘Nothing is wrong. You’re fine. Your baby is fine. You’re both going to be just fine.’ The nurse’s voice was as soft as a lullaby, but Ging had tensed all over.

‘My baby?’

The nurse leapt back, and Ging realised he must have shouted the question at her. 

‘Hey, hey, sorry,’ Ging said, attempting a smile, ‘but you said baby right? I didn’t hallucinate that?’

‘Oh, honey, I’m sorry. You didn’t know you were pregnant?’

Ging shook his head. ‘Had no idea.’

The nurse gave him a sympathetic look but didn’t say anything further, which was a relief. Ging was still taking the news in. He stared at the beige wall in front of him. His heartbeat had accelerated, and he was finding it hard to breathe. He touched his stomach. There was no obvious bump. There might have been some weight gain. He couldn’t tell. His head still hurt, and he felt dizzy and drained.

The doctor came in five minutes later, checked Ging over, did a eye tracking test on him, said he was fine. The nurse got Ging scheduled with a gynaecologist for the next day and then asked him if he had a friend picking him up. Ging lied, got his clothes and wallet back, and left the building alone. By that time, it was evening, and a bright pink sunset was blazing across the sky. 

‘This is your fucking fault, Paris,’ he muttered, kicking a broken off bit of asphalt across the parking lot. He walked back to his hotel room, took a shower, ate an orange and a bag of microwave popcorn, tried not to think about his pregnancy. He couldn’t sleep, so he stayed up, jotting down thoughts for the living video game he’d been working on, sending along some of the better ones to his co-designers. 

He woke up at ten past eleven: scrambled into a too big t-shirt and sweats, peed, brushed his teeth, grabbed his jacket, hailed a taxi, and just made it to his eleven-thirty appointment. The room the secretary sent him to was medium sized with grey carpet and white walls, clean and clinical with only one painting, a generic seascape. When Ging walked in, the gynaecologist looked up from her clipboard and lifted her heavily pencilled eyebrows. 

‘You the father?’

Ging nodded. ‘I’m Ging.’

She looked down at her clipboard and then at his stomach. ‘Oh, so, you’re the mother.’

Ging folded his arms. ‘I’m your patient. I’m nobody’s mother.’

The gynaecologist looked back down at her board. ‘First time?’

‘Pregnant? Yeah.’

‘Got anyone with you today – boyfriend, husband, parents?’

‘No, I’ve got none of those.’

‘And about how far along are you, Ging?’

‘Dunno.’ The last time Ging had sex was over four months ago, so he was probably at least that far along, but he was hoping that by some miracle or mistake the conception had occurred later. 

‘When was your last period?’

‘Not sure.’ Ging’s last period had also been some months ago, though he couldn’t pin point the date. When he was out running around all day, his period often became irregular or disappeared entirely. Before today, its absence had never been grieved.

The gynaecologist made a quick note at the bottom of her paper. ‘Are you on birth control?’

‘No.’

The gynaecologist shook her head slowly and heaved out a sigh. She handed him a medical history form. ‘Fill this out. I’ll see if we can set up an ultrasound today.’

‘Great.’ Ging glared her out of the room then filled out the form in less than two minutes. He watched the clock, the seconds ticking by. He felt trapped and whatever cleaner they used on the room was making him nauseous. He thought about running away, but he needed to know how far along he was. He reached into his pocket and got out his phone. Before he even knew what he was doing, he was calling Pariston.

‘Hello?’ The voice at the other end of the voice was suave and brisk. Ging imagined Pariston just stepping out of a refreshing shower with a warmed towel around his waist and another smaller one working the wetness out his hair. This was however just conjecture. Paris could very well be in a meeting right now or at a public urinal. He always sounded the same.

‘Yo,’ Ging said.

‘Oh, Ging, what a surprise.’ Paris didn’t seem at all rattled. Even though Ging hadn’t talked to him in three months, and the last thing he had told Paris was to ‘stay the hell out of my life.’

‘Want to grab drinks later?’ Ging said, hoping no one at the clinic overheard him talking about alcohol. He could tell the gynaecologist already thought of him as a young, idiot parent, but he needed a way to meet Paris, and a public place was probably the best option.

‘Look who’s finally begging me to come back.’ Paris laughed. Ging imagined him picking clothes out of his walk-in closet, laying them out on his king-sized bed, pulling the arms of the shirt and jacket straight out, so they would not wrinkle, frowning at a crease in the pants.

‘I’m not begging you. I just, it would be cool if we could stay friends.’

‘Sure, sure,’ Paris said. ‘So, where are you? You sound lost.’

‘I’m in Padokea City.’

Pariston frowned. Ging didn’t need to see it. He heard it in his voice. ‘But that’s half way across the world.’

‘Hasn’t stopped you from getting to me before.’

‘I’m busy. I have plans.’

Ging stared at the seascape, at the huge wave tumbling over the shore. He felt as small as a pebble or a piece of glass in an overwhelming current. ‘Paris, I need you.’

He hated the crack in his voice, the desperation. He should have called anyone else, anyone but Pariston. There was a long pause. Finally, Paris spoke again, and Ging could tell he was smiling.

‘I’ll be there.’

O^^^^O^^^^O^^^^O^^^^O^^^^O^^^^O^^^^O^^^^O^^^^O^^^^O^^^^O^^^^O^^^^O

 

They met at a small, out-of-the-way bar on the west side of the city. Ging arrived just past five in the evening, settled down at a corner table, and ordered fried chicken, a seaweed salad, and lemon lime soda. Paris came through the front door at exactly five-thirty. He looked around the room for a moment, before spotting Ging and smiling and waving. Ging sucked in his breath and waved back. He had forgotten just how dazzling Pariston looked, with his thick, shiny medium length blond hair and his glowing, lotion commercial complexion. Even his aura sparkled. 

‘I almost gave up on you,’ Ging said dryly, when Pariston sat down in the chair across from him. 

‘I told you I was busy.’ Pariston put his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. He was dressed rather casually in a lavender button down, black jeans and loafers. He was still wearing the transport ring he had used to get to get to Padokea so quickly – a silver band with an opal stone. Ging had infused several rings with Nen, so that he and his friends could get to each other quickly in case of an emergency. He should have taken back Paris’s ring after the break up, but it had slipped his mind, and now they were here.

Ging smiled tentatively, moving his salad around in its bowl. ‘Still plotting to take over the world?’

Pariston returned Ging’s smile with a sideways grin. ‘Sure, sure. So, what’s all this about? You “need me”?’

‘Slight exaggeration,’ Ging said. ‘You should order a drink.’

‘That bad, ha?’

Ging shrugged. ‘Depends on how you look at it.’

Paris went up to the counter and ordered a Strawberry Daiquiri. He took a sip of the cocktail, smiled, and loudly thanked the bar staff, before returning to his table. Ging sank a little lower in his seat.

Paris’s grin widened. ‘Oh, Ging, I still embarrass you. Should I tell everyone we’re no longer a couple?’

‘Just shut up.’

‘Nice ass?’ Paris leaned forward and touched Ging’s chest, tracing letters. ‘You really did miss me.’

‘What?’ Ging slapped Paris’s hand away, looked down at his shirt. There in bold, white letters on black was the simple message written in English. Ging’s cheeks burnt, but he forced his voice to keep steady. ‘Oh, this? First clean shirt I grabbed this morning. Had to rush to make a doctor’s appointment. Haven’t been back to hotel since. It’s a paint shirt.’

Ging pointed out a few blue splotches near the hem of the shirt, but Pariston was not listening anymore. He had frozen. He had been straightening back up from being rejected but suddenly stopped. His slapped hand stayed unmoving in the air. His lips, which were just about to form a shielding smile, fell open instead. His brown eyes blinked rapidly before also freezing, wide open. For a whole forty seconds, Pariston remained fixed in this state, while Ging moved the ice in his soda around with his straw.

All around them, people were talking, laughing, trying to flirt. There was a group of teenagers, mostly girls, sitting at a table near theirs. They were too young to drink legally, but then so was Pariston. One girl looked Ging’s way and smiled. She was cute with black, shoulder length hair and hazel eyes. She fiddled with her hair, looked down at a bracelet on her upturned wrist, looked back up, made eye contact. Ging smiled but shook his head, turned back to Pariston.

‘Hey.’ He snapped his fingers in front of Paris’s face. ‘Hey, come back. Talk to me.’

Pariston stirred. The dazed look went out of his eyes, but he took another gulp of his drink before facing Ging again.

‘Are you dying?’ It came out in a hoarse whisper, and Ging knew Paris was not faking his concern.

A rush of love rolled over Ging. This was his Paris: his sweet, scared, eager, needy Paris. The boy locked up inside the monster. And all of a sudden Ging wished they were still living together. Having cold tea and toast on some windy balcony. Hanging out their laundry together, cracking jokes about being old and married. Holding each other when the nightmares came. What Ging would give to forget the last months and the minute ways Paris cut into him with his words or silences – the quiet, little mind games that drove Ging over the edge. 

‘Paris, I’m not dying. I’m pregnant.’ The words sounded flat and fake, like something out of daytime TV. Ging’s hands curled into fists. He found he couldn’t look Paris in the eyes. 

‘Oh,’ Pariston said. He finished his drink and stood up. Ging wondered if he was going to leave, but he just stood there, tapping the top of his empty glass. ‘How long have you known?’

‘I found out yesterday.’

‘And how long have you been…’ Paris trailed off, his eyes drifting down towards Ging’s waist and stomach.

‘The doctor I went to thinks I’m at the twenty-sixth week mark, so I’m between six and seven months along.’ 

Paris re-seated himself and looked narrowly at Ging. ‘But you don’t look it, and how could you not know you were pregnant for six whole months?’

‘Apparently, it’s not that unusual for a bump not to show until around the twenty-eighth week, especially during a first pregnancy. I also didn’t have a lot of the usual signs. I didn’t have pronounced morning sickness, and I just didn’t know, okay?’

‘All right, all right.’ Pariston smiled. ‘No need to get angry.’

Ging grabbed his own hand to keep it from slamming it into Pariston’s face. ‘I’m not angry. I just hate it when you act like I’m stupid.’

Pariston twirled his glass by its stem. ‘Do you think the doctor might have lied to you?’

‘Why the hell would a doctor lie about something like this, Paris?’

‘I don’t know, to fuck with you?’

‘Normal people don’t pull shit like that. It’s mostly just you and me.’

‘Glad you’re not dying then.’ Pariston smiled and saluted Ging with his empty glass. ‘Now, please, allow me to buy you a drink.’

‘What?’

‘Oh, come on, Ging. We both know you’re not pregnant. You didn’t even put that much effort into the act. Would have been a great prank though, if you could carry it. I don’t know the first thing about nurturing, and you. You couldn’t commit to a millisecond.’

Ging felt his heart sink to his stomach. This was senseless. Even if he could get Paris to believe him, even if he showed him the sonogram pictures and peed on a stick in front him, the outcome would not be the one Ging wanted. He knew that coming in, and yet he had allowed himself the delusion that Paris would completely change, that he would turn around and suddenly become a normal, caring person.

‘You’re right. Us being parents is a fucking joke.’

Pariston beamed at Ging. His teeth were white and even. Ging wanted to knock them out.

‘A truly bad one,’ Paris said. ‘Can you see me as a father? I would probably drop the poor thing the first time someone handed it to me. Kah-bam, blood and brains on the floor.’

Ging returned the smile, though he felt queasy. ‘And I’d probably forget him at the post office or something.’

Paris’s eyes lit up. ‘Him? You’d like a boy? Interesting. When I’ve bothered imaging myself as a parent, I’ve always pictured a daughter. Someone I could dress up and take shopping. She would be a beauty, of course, but I would always sabotage her love life. She would be so cross with me. I can’t even imagine what I’d do with a boy. We’re all so boring.’

Ging raised an eyebrow but made no comment. This whole meeting was a complete waste of time. He just had to think of a way to excuse himself before Paris swung round and decided that Ging might actually be telling the truth. Ging picked at his food. His chicken was already cold. He had only eaten two out of seven strips, and the salad just didn’t seem appetizing now. 

‘I have to go.’

‘But you haven’t finished eating.’

Ging took his jacket off the back of his chair. ‘I have to go.’ 

‘But I just got here.’ Paris pouted. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Ging said, ‘I can’t do this. I can’t handle this shit anymore. I can’t be with someone who constantly trips me up, who gets pleasure from hurting and belittling me. I may be fucked up, but not even I am that masochistic. I just can’t be with someone I can’t trust.’

He got up, paid his bill, went out the door. Paris didn’t follow him, and Ging, to his surprise, felt more relief than disappointment. 

Outside it was raining. The sky was charcoal grey. Ging walked, hands in pockets, down the sidewalk as the street lamps flickered on. Not paying mind to distance or time, Ging walked block after block until he was standing in front of the city library. He sat down on the huge, stone stairs, lit a cigarette, then stamped it out with his foot. He watched dark clouds shift, revealing and then re-hiding the moon. 

He was not sure what he would do now. He should probably talk to someone – a friend maybe or a mentor, but everyone he knew was as young and inexperienced as him, or had families of their own to keep them occupied. His circumstances were not the best for child rearing. He was spectacularly young and alone, still trying to figure life out. On the other hand, if he was going to have a child this might be the time to do, before he started to physically transition. He couldn’t see himself giving his child to a stranger, completely surrendering his offspring to the love or abuse a legal parent could give, so adoption was out. There was his grandmother on Whale Island, but he hadn’t talked to his family in years, not since he ran away from home seven years ago at the age of eleven.

‘Excuse me, but do you know how to sing?’ 

Ging looked up. A boy about ten or twelve had materialised beside him. The boy’s skin was as pale as paper and his hair and eyes were black. His fixed expression made him look like a wax doll. Ging wondered if he was some sort of shape shifting, magical beast who was planning to lure him into the night and eat him. Funny, though, Ging had come across multiple creatures that sang to their victims but none who had asked for a song.

‘I’m sorry,’ the boy continued, after receiving no answer, ‘it’s a silly questions, but my mother is given to whims. We do not go out all that often, and there were not many street performers about today. She is willing to pay quite handsomely for a song.’

Ging turned and saw a slender woman, standing by a lamppost. She was wearing a long, red coat and her dark hair was twisted up under a hat. She was carrying a very large umbrella. A visor covered her eyes. 

‘Do you sing well?’ She had placed the umbrella’s handle in the crook of her arm and was rummaging through her purse.

Ging shrugged. ‘I can carry a tune. Nothing amazing.’

‘Perfect,’ the woman said, ‘there is such an intimacy listening to someone whose voice has never been professionally trained.’

Ging stared at her. ‘Okay.’ He was not sure if she was serious, or if this was some sort of prank.

‘Oh, forgive me,’ the woman said, ‘I forgot to introduce myself. I am called Kikyo, and this is my eldest, Illumi.’ She nodded her head in the direction of the boy. 

‘I’m Ging Freecss,’ Ging said.

Kikyo smiled and bowed her head slightly. ‘It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.’ She pulled a thick wad of money from her purse. ‘Would a million jenny do it for you?’

Ging stood up and looked doubtfully at what Kikyo was offering. ‘I’m sorry, but you just want me to sing?’

‘Yes.’

‘And singing isn’t code for something else?’

‘No.’

‘What if you don’t like my singing?’

Kikyo laughed, long and high like many pealing bells. The boy, Illumi, started but quickly regained his composure. He looked up as his mother with an expression that was equal parts betrayal and disdain.

‘Well, then I shall be disappointed, shan’t I?’ Kikyo pressed the bills into Ging’s hands.

‘I’m not homeless,’ Ging said, ‘well, technically I don’t have a home or any place of occupancy, but I’m not poor. I was poor, but now I’m not. I’m actually a pretty well known archeologist.’

‘I’ve hurt your pride,’ Kikyo said. She hastily put the money away. ‘Forgive me. It wasn’t charity I was trying to give you. I – you were alone, and you reminded me of someone I used to know. You’re pretty – I was worried – it’s night – you looked sad. I don’t like to think of you on the streets by yourself. It’s – are you pregnant?’

Ging jumped. ‘How on earth?’

‘A guess. You seemed in turmoil, as if you were trying to decide something monumental, and then there was your walk.’

‘My walk?’

‘Yes, you were walking stiffly in old boots. So, unless you are in the habit of buying boots that are a size or two too small, your feet have probably swollen, a sign of pregnancy. Your loose clothing, also a pretty good indicator. Your wasted cigarette was the clincher.’ Kikyo smiled again, seemingly pleased by her deductive skills. 

‘Impressive,’ Ging said.

Kikyo shrugged off the compliment. ‘I am pregnant with my third child. One develops a certain kind of radar.’

Illumi tugged on her arm. ‘Mother, it’s cold.’

‘Shush, Illumi. There are larger problems in the world then your temporary discomfort.’ Kikyo turned back to Ging. ‘How far along?’

‘Six months.’

‘Too late for a legal abortion then,’ Kikyo said, with a cluck of her tongue, ‘boyfriend run out on you?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Men can be such pigs. Have you decided if you’re going to keep it or not? I know a doctor or two who can be persuaded, if that’s what you want. Or are you considering adoption? How old are you, darling?’ 

Her questions were in rapid succession of each other. Ging decided to only answer the last one. 

‘Eighteen.’

‘I was eighteen when I gave birth to him.’ Kikyo motioned towards Illumi. ‘But I had a husband. It’s harder on your own.’

‘You think?’ Ging said, but he smiled. His eye into the future had opened, as it did sporadically, and he could see himself in a field with a baby in his arms. The baby’s eyes were wide and bright, filled with curiosity, a love of life. Gon was so small, so breakable, but he would grow strong, maybe even stronger than Ging. There would be difficulties in Gon’s life. It would not be an ordinary one. Ging would have to prepare him for it, but in the end Ging knew Gon would be all right.

‘It’s going to be okay,’ Ging said, ‘I know it’s going to be okay now. I do want him. I’m going to care for him, dedicate myself to him. I’ll be alone, but I’m used to being alone, and I’m not scared anymore. This will be a challenge, a different sort then I’m used to, but I’m determined to succeed. It will be it’s own kind of adventure.’

Kikyo nodded. ‘I am sure it will be.’

Ging looked up the stairs at the doors of the library. Lights were on. It was open still.

‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘I have a lot of research to do, and not a whole lot of time.’


End file.
